


A wild and antic disposition

by ember_firedrake



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Hate Sex, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Be serious," said Enjolras.</p>
<p>"I am wild," replied Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A wild and antic disposition

Sometimes he didn't know what spurred it—the moments when they would fall together, a clash of limbs and bodies inspired more by anger (at least on Enjolras’ part) than passion. It always seemed to happen whenever their tension reached a breaking point, and afterwards Enjolras wouldn't speak of it, so Grantaire followed his lead. This time, however, Grantaire knew what had been the catalyst.

“Be serious,” Enjolras had said earlier that day.

And Grantaire, with just a hint of a smirk, had replied, “I am wild.”

He had been baiting Enjolras, when he’d said it. He just hadn't expected Enjolras to take that bait. It had been a surprise later when Enjolras had shown up at his apartment, and had wasted no time in coming inside, shoving Grantaire up against the nearest wall, and pressing his lips with a harsh kiss. 

“Prove it,” was all he had said, and it was all the invitation Grantaire had needed.

Now, Grantaire had Enjolras bent over on his bed. Enjolras’ hair had tumbled forward, hiding his face as he buried it in the pillow to muffle his groans. His hands clenched and unclenched the twisted fabric of the sheets. His back was arched like a bow, holding tension as if it might loose any moment. Grantaire leaned forward, licking again where he held Enjolras’ buttocks apart.

Enjolras made a sound that was halfway between a groan and a whimper. His hips hitched up in encouragement, and Grantaire needed to grip the base of his own erection to stave off the sudden rush of arousal. He’d wanted to do this for so long, but the nature of their encounters had never allowed it. Initially, it had been out of a desire to see his imposing leader made vulnerable. He hadn't counted on enjoying giving Enjolras this pleasure, so much so that it made his knees weak with the thought of it. Grantaire gave an appreciative hum, licking the exposed skin before him, dipping down, pressing in.

Enjolras was responsive beneath him, the noises that escaped him increasing in desperation until Grantaire couldn't take it any longer. He replaced tongue with slick fingers, thrusting them a little more roughly than he normally would. He had no intent to hurt Enjolras, he only wanted him to feel the reminder of this tomorrow. There was no cause for concern—Enjolras was lax beneath him, and it was a simple matter to prepare him with two, and then three fingers. 

Grantaire needed a moment to collect himself, then, as he wiped his hand on a spare handkerchief. Enjolras angled his face on the pillow so it was visible. His skin was flushed and sweat-soaked, and hair plastered his forehead.

“What are you waiting for, then?” he rasped. He seemed to have regained a modicum of composure since Grantaire no longer applied tongue to him. That was something to remember for the future. “Fuck me.”

Grantaire growled, gripping Enjolras’ hips hard enough to bruise as he brought himself forward. His cockhead pressed against the opening there, which presented only a slight resistance before giving way. Enjolras let out a ragged groan. Grantaire gave him a moment to adjust, before he began thrusting in earnest. 

Enjolras grunted, meeting the pounding of hips. He was still too collected, however—too composed after having previously been inarticulate with pleasure. Grantaire wanted him like that again. 

Grantaire leaned down, bending himself over Enjolras’ back until he could taste the sweat there. He lunged forward, nipping at muscle with his teeth. It wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but the skin colored and Enjolras gave a satisfying cry. Grantaire grinned, snapping his hips again. He gave into temptation, twining a hand into the curls of Enjolras’ hair and pulling. 

Enjolras hissed, his neck arching back in counterpoint to the curve of his spine. He rose on his forearms to compensate, and the change of angle made it easier for Grantaire to move. He did so, keeping his hold on Enjolras’ hair as he thrust his hips forward again and again. The hair served as reins, keeping Enjolras from lowering his head, whose breathing went ragged as he lost himself to pleasure. He went tense beneath Grantaire, then gave a spasming shudder as his orgasm overtook him. 

Grantaire thrust twice more and then pulled out, his release painting Enjolras’ back, marking him. He remained there a moment, breathing deep as he stared at the contrast against Enjolras’ skin—and at the red mark on his shoulder. Enjolras let out a groan that sounded more like blissed satisfaction than annoyance, though it was tinged with elements of both. He slumped back onto the pillow as Grantaire released his hair.

Grantaire trailed his fingers down Enjolras’ spine, through the mess he’d made there, and further down towards the curve of his buttocks. He didn't know what he intended until he reached there, fingertip trailing around the sore muscle and dipping in. Enjolras drew in a sharp breath.

“Could you get it up again?” Grantaire wondered aloud. They didn't do this. They didn't talk after their encounters. They moved on and pretended it hadn't occurred until the next time they had to release tensions. Something spurred his recklessness—he suspected it had something to do with the way Enjolras made him willing to take risks, even if only for the intoxicating rush. 

He twisted his finger deeper when Enjolras writhed against it. “Grantaire...” Enjolras murmured.

“Tell me what you want.”

They also didn’t go for second rounds, but Grantaire dared to hope. He could tell the moment his hopes were for naught. Enjolras tensed, and pulled away, rolling to face Grantaire again.

“I want you to take matters more seriously at our meetings,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire scowled, throwing his handkerchief at Enjolras before turning to clothe himself again. “It’s not in my nature.”

“I know.” There was exasperation in Enjolras’ tone. “You don’t care for our cause, or you don’t believe in it. I would like the energy you put towards cynicism turned to some passion.”

“I can be passionate about things,” Grantaire said. It wasn't innuendo, and he couldn't bring himself to look at Enjolras, for fear that he might discover the truth.

“I don’t mean your absinthe or your bottle.”

Grantaire took a breath, collecting himself, then he turned to Enjolras with a smirk. Enjolras had pulled his own clothes back on.

“Enjolras, you’re an ingrate,” he said. 

Enjolras frowned, any humor in him gone. He made to leave the room, stopping briefly at the doorway. 

“That is because I don’t know what to make of you,” he said. “I would tell you to abstain from our meetings, but I know you wouldn't listen. You care not for what I have to say.”

Grantaire watched him go, and made no attempt to stop him. 

_You’ll see._


End file.
